His jaunty air, his complaisant nod, admitted of but one
explanation. He had told his story to the chief authorities and
been listened to. Proof that he had something of actual moment to
tell them; something which the District Attorney's office might
feel bound to take up.
Alanson Black felt the shock of this discovery, but was glad of
the warning it gave him. Plans which had seemed both simple and
natural before, he now saw must be altered to suit the emergency.
He could no longer hope to leave town with his little party
without attracting unwelcome attention. They might even be
followed. For whatever Flannagan may have told the police, there
was one thing he had been unable to impart, and that was where to
look for Oliver. Only Reuther held that clew, and if they once
suspected this fact, she would certainly become the victim of
their closest surveillance. Little Reuther, therefore, must not
accompany him on his quest, but hold herself quite apart from it;
or, better still, be made to act as a diversion to draw off the
scent from the chief actor, which was himself. The idea was good,
and one to be immediately carried out.
Continuing on to his office, he called up Miss Weeks.
"Are you there?" he asked.
Yes, she was there.
"Alone?"
Yes, Reuther was home packing.
"Nobody around?"
Nobody.
"No one listening on the line?"
She was sure not.
"Very well. Listen closely and act quickly. You are not to go to--
I will not mention the name; and you are not to wait for me.
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